Unexpectedly, my pulse somersaults and nosedives painfully against my strangled breast when another misplaced stride sends me lurching into an unladylike stumble. Feathery arms unfurl halfway, offering their condolence as those aftershocks leave me gracelessly lumbering about, all in the effort to regain equilibrium. Panting, I straighten (finally) and pause to catch my breath upon the blasted rocky loam. Karma is quick to remind my confidence that no matter how sure a foot, the loose, wet gravel will cause an occasional kick to the pride.

Ears skate rearward, meshing within that frayed nest up-top my head. The only warning of an impending threat is the muffled groan of rock and vine being forcefully towed from their ledge. A wild, panicked shriek lifts from these lungs as inflammation twinges in the wake of shock and the bruising impact from behind me. Uncomfortable pressure fans outward like rain over my left buttock. Horrific flashes of formless demon’s sprint over my mind, their cold breath gives life to the worst scenarios imaginable. Forelimbs react on pure instinct, tensing as I lean forward into the uneven ground. Hindquarters lift, forefeet coil tight against my belly for a fraction of an instant before shooting forth to strike the savage, fabricated beast. Wings thrash apart, beating the moist, quivering air.

Chops slither upward, revealing the warm, wet daggers beneath. Ebony locks of layered silk whirl against my neck as I turn, attempting to pull the monster from my blind spot. These wide, fearful irises settle upon an unexpected harbinger…rather than the lean, feline body of an assassin…it was the massive, cream and gold frame of my savior and guardsmen. Hot fear dissipates like fog beneath the sun. My jaw remains tactfully open, gaping at the titan. Anxiety of a different sort plodders across my expression, heating the narrow lines, flushing those pale corners.

A soft gasp quells the remainder of my abrupt terror; uncertainty and submission color the framework in place of instinct driven willpower. Though my flesh remains braced for retaliation, my head droops openly, submitting to the eagle as the authority in our situation. Lips seal, working my tongue across the threshold nervously, “s-sorry,” though I stumble over his jargon, the utterance is understandable and correct.

OC: @Noah @Toulouse - sorry for the wait!